


The Island of Lost Maps

by inaforest (katzenjammerd)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-18
Updated: 2007-07-18
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17385623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzenjammerd/pseuds/inaforest
Summary: A rum-runner's island provides an interlude from pirate-navy tensions.





	The Island of Lost Maps

**Author's Note:**

> Set after CotBP, um, not at all in the DMC (or AWE) universe. Title from Miles Harvey's book of the same name.

The enemy ship crashed and broke up amid the surf of the storm. The battle ranged on, with those pirates left on the Victorious fighting tooth and nail, destined to loss. Tossed and turned, Norrington and his men clung helplessly to rafters and planks, waiting for Victorious to turn and save those officers who had boarded the destroyed ship. The rain and wind began to move them, floating them away from the battle scene till the Victorious' mast faded from sight, and Norrington felt afraid for the first time that day. The tide took them south and eventually what few men were left spotted land and begun to feebly swim.

Their arms had begun to tire, and Norrington began to despair that they would drown within plain sight of land. A small miracle happened. Boats on shore began to move out towards them. Clearly friendly natives. Hopefully.

They were pulled on board by a motley crew, and Norrington began to doubt the potential friendliness of the welcome that would await them on shore. Of all the islands littering the Caribbean, why did the good Lord see fit to send him and his band of good, honest men to a den of pirates?

It was worse than that, he thought, as he caught sight of a female first mate.

He had inadvertently caught up with Sparrow.

If the man was evil, he could have dealt with it. If the man were righteous, he could have dealt with it. The trouble with that blasted pirate was that he was neither one nor other and Norrington felt ill-equipped to deal with him. He prayed that Sparrow would be mysteriously absent, and spare Norrington the punishment of having to deal with him.

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

Sparrow, as it turned out, greeted them at the shore.

"I heard a rumour from a little bird that you gave me one day's head start, my fine Commodore. How could I not receive a noble officer to our fine little bit of paradise?" he pulled off his hat in greeting.

"Would this little bird have an overlarge hat with an overlarge feather?" Norrington asked sceptically.

"I think he was trying to copy me." Sparrow lent in conspiratorially.

"He failed," Norrington replied dryly, glancing at Sparrow's mane, even more bedecked than when the Commodore last set eyes on him.

It gave him no pleasure to do this, but the law must be upheld and it was his duty to do so, but - -

"Guards, arrest this pirate." He spoke firmly, belied by the wheezing of his men behind him.

Sparrow looked at his crew and laughed.

"Mate, let them get their barings, perhaps a bit of food, 'fore you send them off to work. As for arresting, I reckon I got you out-numbered, not to mention out-gunned." Sparrow did not say this unkindly. Rather it was his benign manner which seemed to infuriate the Commodore.

It was simply unbearable, and Norrington could not stand to look at the pirate any longer. He turned away from the rabble in a desperate attempt to compose himself and formulate a strategy.

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

He sat down on the beach, to stare at the sea. He foresaw that gazing at the ocean might be his only source of consolation during the next few days, or God forbid, weeks. The sea shimmered and flickered in an unblinking calm, innocent after her nighttime temper. They surely had not drifted far from when the ships course?

He had only a half-hour of peace before -

"Penny for your thoughts, Commodore," said a barely sober voice plunking down beside him. Sparrow seemed mesmerised by the sodden mess that was Norrington's naval uniform. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

"What is it, Sparrow?"

"Just, can I have a feather? It would look ever so nice in my hair," he said, plucking a sodden whisp of white fluff from the felt lump that had once been his tri-cornered hat.

Norrington replied by burying his head in his hands, startling the surrounding commissioned officers nearby, who had never seen their commanding officer so unreserved.

"As god is my witness, Sparrow, you'll hang if I have to dangle you for the parapet myself." He hissed through his hands

Sparrow looked mildly alarmed and returned two-thirds of the feathers, clumsily patting them back on the hat. After staring at the Commodore for a few moments, he attempted kindness.

"Never mind, somebody will find you, eh? If not, you'd make a fine pirate, James." He rose and patted Norrington firmly on the shoulder, his hand lingering a little too long, fiddling.

Norrington looked up, furious and jumped to his feet.  
  
"You. Will. Hang!" he shouted to Sparrow's retreating figure on the beach. He felt his shoulder where Sparrow's hand had been.

"And give me back my epaulet!"

Sparrow began to run.

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

The evening brought a typical drunken pirate revelry, at which the naval crew and officers perked up.

A little too much, thought Norrington, who felt that too much interaction might prove problematic in the future.

Vast quantities of rum were produced out of nowhere, and Norrington moved down the beach, leaving his men to enjoy what they may without fear of reprimand. It was, he reminded himself, an extremely odd turn of events that he and his crew should depend on the goodwill of pirates, and best left under the auspices of 'leave of absence.'

The night was fine, and Norrington was glad of peace and quiet. Which meant of course, thought the Commodore, that any moment now…

It was as if he could sense it in his bones…

"My fine Commodore, why _are_ you out here all on your onesies?

Norrington rolled his eyes, and Sparrow dropped down beside him, holding out an unopened bottle of rum.

Norrington regarded the bottle as if searching for his fate. He took it eventually. It was, he reasoned, a leave of absence for all.

"It seems to me, Jamsie…"

(Norrington shuddered)

"…that you're not enjoying your little holiday from all your responsibility. Why so anxious to return to town?" Sparrow leaned in closer, "You've not got another lady, and you only parted with Miss Swann four months?"

Norrington felt a dignified silence was the best answer.

A lecherous grin suffused over Sparrow's face. "I see the Black Pearl isn't the only fast thing here in the Caribbean."

The man was simply unbearable, thought Norrington. "Is there any reason to break away from your festivities other than to irritate me?"

"I like you, Jamsie. Simple. You seem to be that rarest of things – an honourable Naval man."

Norrington stiffened, "There are plenty officers of His Majesty's navy that are honourable, decent men determined to serve King and country."

"You keep telling yourself that, Jamsie, you keep telling yourself that." Sparrow smiled at him indulgently.

"If you insist on keeping me 'company', then I insist that you halt with ridiculous name."

A pleasant, silent time passed and Norrington had almost disregarded his companion, gazing out at the ocean. There was a reason he had begged for a naval commission rather than the army, and years later, he could still be spellbound by the tides' cadence.

"Are you that upset about Elizabeth, sorry, Miss Swann?"

" _Mrs Turner_ and I are perfectly cordial acquaintances now. And kindly mind your business."

"Well, Commodore, I was just inquiring after you well-being. If you allow me the cordial indulgence, that is. I reckon you're better off without her, mate. She did seem a bit too willful – you'd spend half your time dreaming of ways to off her, just so you'd get your own way once in a while."

Norrington's expression was one of perfect repugnance, and Sparrow wondered momentarily if he had pushed too far. But the pirate was nothing if not attentive, and spotted that the expression did not, however, reach his eyes.

"Captain Sparrow, only as often as you dream of it with your First Mate." Norrington spoke in a bland tone.

"For that, I shall tell Anamaria on you" said Sparrow, flicking his hair.

He saluted the Commodore with his drink, and was quietly relieved to see Norrington return the gesture, and they both drank deeply, for this moment at least, the lapping waves the only noise near them.

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

There was, Norrington thought fuzzily four hours later, an awful lot of rum.

"Where exactly did you get all this?" he threw an arm out expansively. "I thought I had dealt with all the rum runners."

A voice from the sand beside him laughed, "Oh don't worry, you were so fast at getting rid of them that they never got the chance to save their booty." Sparrow paused, then giggled, "So in a way, you saved all the rum for us."

Norrington stifled a laugh, and said after a pause, deadpan, "So you see, Sparrow, like I said, there are plenty officers of the navy that are honourable, decent men, determined to serve…"

"Rum, in this case," cracked Sparrow.

Norrington didn't bother to hide his laughter, "So bear in mind next time you wish to pilfer from any areas under my command, that _I_ have supplied you with drink. A lot of drink."

"My hero." Sparrow drawled salaciously, leaning against him.

It is unnervingly pleasant, to have this weight upon him, to feel the interested glance of a pirate on him fluttering under dark lashes, but Norrington quickly quelled that particular feeling.  
  
It took him some moments to realise that Captain Sparrow was playing with his hat. A hand would then run down his arm to examine the brocade on the cuffs and shirt ruffs.

"You really do like fripperies, don't you?"

"I believe you are the one _wearing_ them, Commodore." retorted Jack teasingly.

Norrington laughed freely, and if Sparrow was surprised by such unreserved behaviour, he did not say. That Norrington had squared with being stuck on an abandoned rum-runners' island was clear enough, and a smart move in these pirate infested waters, but Jack was surprised at the Commodore's new-found relaxed enjoyment of his time marooned.

"You ought to be shipwrecked more often, mate. It seems to do you the world of good to get away from all these rules."

The Commodore's relaxed expression receded somewhat. "I enjoy the Navy."

"No mate, you enjoy the sea."

The Commodore did not answer, and Jack began to think that he had won their little argument until the commodore spoke quietly, still focused on the sea.

"I love the sea, I'll make you no quarrel there. But I don't mind duty, protecting the port. You may have sacked Nassau without firing a shot, but there are plenty pirates out there who would destroy willingly, if only for the sake of destruction. These are people and livelihoods and homes who depend on me and …"

He stopped there, flustered at unguarded he had been and the honesty of the speech.

He chanced a look at his companion and Sparrow gazed back at him, not mockingly or frivolously.

"I get it, mate. Trust me, I get it."

The moment lingered, and Jack surprised himself by being the one to break it.

"Did you always love the sea? Or did you just fall for it by luck when you took up with His Majesty's finest? I can imagine you being destined since birth to sail in all that lace and gold."

"Didn't you always love the sea?" The Commodore asked at him curiously.

"Always. I was just wondering if it was the same for you."

The Commodore paused, obviously deep in thought.

"Yes. I can't remember a time when I didn't want to sail. Our neighbour's estate had a rather grand lake with an island, and I spent weeks there in the summer splashing and sailing, trying to colonise the island."

And although the Commodore was still staring at the Caribbean sea, he was oceans away, back in England looking out at a different kind of sea.

"Or rather, as the boats tended to sink, _trying_ to sail would be a more apt description."

He looked down at his ruined uniform before glancing up at Sparrow who was smiling back at him.

"My family had great experience of me appearing like this."

"That I find hard to believe." Sparrow reached out to play with the brocade, a hand lingering perhaps a little too long, coming to rest on his forearm lightly.

It occurred to the Commodore that Sparrow and, much more worryingly, he were quite drunk, with Sparrow getting drowsily quiet and he getting chatty. He idly wondered if the uniform was beyond hope.

"I remember as a young boy, getting into such scrapes, that my mother insisted that I wear a servant-boy's outfit when playing, as she refuse to outlay further expenditure on fine clothes that would inevitably be ruined."

"I would never imagine you as a ragamuffin."

"Lord yes. I almost drowned my neighbour trying to sail in a leaking dory once and her mother dragged me across the park to my father by my ear. I still think that ear somewhat longer than its brother due to her."

It surprised Jack that Norrington should have all this life and experiences outside of the Caribbean, and by his countenance, such happy and carefree ones at that. In Port Royal, when you looked at him, you simply thought: 'Commodore'.

"What happened to your nearly drowned neighbour? "

A veil descended. The Commodore's face was expressionless and he answered blankly that she had married well and removed up north. For once Jack knew better than to push for any more truthful answers. For though the memory lay like a sword dull without use, it could still cut and kill. Even feckless pirates know the danger of them.

When Norrington tore his gaze away from the waves, his face had none of the genial relaxed expression from earlier in the night. If Jack had indulged in certain long-pondered thoughts of seduction tonight, the opportune moment had decidedly/clearly passed.

"What about you, Captain Sparrow? Have you always been at sea?" The Commodore asked dryly.

"Me? I was born to Oceanids." Sparrow claimed dramatically.

It got a small laugh. And really, that was all Sparrow wanted.

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

They were both younger sons, it turned out. If the Commodore had had the same urges to abandon family and friends at fourteen, he did not mention it. Talk was kept light and breezy – nothing that could be used by either afterwards.

That Norrington was a very fine man, Jack had always thought that. A excellent sailor too, and there was nothing more that Jack appreciated than _that_. He had always found the Commodore to be worth a tease, but here far away from gallows and swag, there was something more to him. It didn't hurt that he cut a fine figure, and was certainly no eyesore.

In fact, Sparrow would readily admit to being partial to the Commodore, and might even, if held at knifepoint, admit to a soft fondness for the man indulged in many a night-time thought.

And here he was. Drunk and companionable and warm and witty and best of all, on his own with Jack.

Jack was uncertain that Norrington … Nevertheless, he decided to seize the opportunity and indulge in something that he has had a notion to do since the Interceptor.

He slid up to him, his hand gliding across the still damp coat. Jack leant his chin upon his shoulder, admiring the view up close, as it were. He lunged at him and kissed him. Hot and wet and drunk, and the Commodore did not stop him.

Jack's always pushed his luck.

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

It took a several moments for Norrington to remember his place. He pushed away shakily.

A kiss, he had been kissed by a drunken pirate.

'Who had seen?' was Norrington's first, panicked thought. He would be flogged… Who would flog him? A wild vision of the Governor, one hand trying to whip him, the other holding his enormous white wig down occurred to him and he choked down a hysterical laugh.

He looked down the beach to where the merrymaking seemed to be concentrated. Men were moving off to the side in couples and threes and groups. Anamaria seemed to be brandishing her gun in a generally threatening manner. A warning to the many lonely, amorous men.

He saw his cabin boy, Edward, walking into the shadows away from the fire with Groves.

There was a hand, surprisingly firm, on his arm pulling him back. He realised he was biting his lip, something he hasn't done since he was a boy, about to incur his father's unrelenting temper.

"It's just one night." He heard himself saying. "They can have one night."

"You too," Sparrow said quietly, "Take it, for even one night."

And he felt himself wading deeper into more dangerous territories, as Sparrow pulled him even closer.

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

They spot an enormous sail on the third day, and the Victorious sails as near as it can to the shallow bay.

He cannot help but look at Jack. He receives a weak smile from the pirate.

"Back to Commodore-ing and the real world, eh?"

Sparrow and the crew of the Black Pearl began to walk to the wooded area, to hide from the almost-certainty of the Victorious' yardarm. Norrington knows he is not the only one to be staring at them with regret that it should be like this.

Memories of home last night, the Interceptor, Elizabeth, and now this: he feels ill.

A shout from the bushes rouse him from his reverie. "I will always raise a glass of rum to thee, James Norrington."

And as heartsick as he is, as tired and weary of pretence and pirates, he cannot help but let out a peal of laughter. It was a choice: he must laugh or cry at the present situation.

He began to walk to the water, waving his hat at the incoming rowboats. He sensed the hesitation of the men ebbing as they begin to follow him to the water's edge, shouting and waving

 

****

\- 0 - 

 

"Commodore!" Lieutenant Gillette waded ashore and saluted him. "We won, but by the time the storm died out we could not find you. We have been scavenging the islands for survivors."

Norrington sensed he was expected to nod his approval, and did so.

"It seems you all found the same island. "Gillette's relief was obvious. "The Victorious awaits your command."

Despite his conflicting emotions, to hear that felt liberating. His ship, unconquered and unscathed from it's recent battle, was waiting for him.

"This entire area looks like a pirates den. Should we investigate, Sir?"

He looked back at his men who were blank and silent, then turned to Lieutenant Gillette.

"No, there are no others here on the island. It may have been used as rumrunners' den, but no longer."

Norrington waded out to the rowboat, to return to the ship and return to his life in Port Royal.

He did not dare look back.


End file.
